Morning Sounds
by Obsidian Sphinx
Summary: Shinichirou reflects on mornings spent with Nanami. Yaoi. NanamiShinichirou. COMPLETE.


Disclaimer: Well, I don't own any of the other shows I write about, so it's safe to say that I don't own this one either.

Author's Note: Greetings! I have a one-shot for all of you! I've never written Sukisho before, so this is obviously my first. I'm completely infatuated with Nanami and Shinichirou. They're so precious! So, here's a little something for you to feast on. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Oh! (Passes out cheese platters to everyone). The story is immersed in cheesiness, but a little cheese never hurt anyone . . . unless of course that person was lactose intolerant, in which case a little cheese could very well hurt them. Fortunately, my cheesy fanfiction is lactose intolerant friendly, so please feel free to enjoy it regardless of whether or not you can handle dairy! Happy Readings!

ooo

Morning Sounds

By: Obsidian Sphinx

ooo

More than any other time, Shinichirou loved the morning; in particular he loved the morning's sounds. First would come a gentle sigh right next to his ear, and Nanami would shift against his side. On instinct, Shinichirou's arm, numb and slightly discolored from having been looped about another person's waist all night, would tighten. It was one of the milder side-effects of what Soushi described as his "mine syndrome".

Next, Nanami would whisper, "Shin'ch'rou" because he was not completely awake, and Nanami always mumbled when he was sleepy. Shinichirou would loosen his grip, flexing his fingers against the soft cotton of his lover's pajamas. If his fingertips brushed over tiny, candy cane shaped appliqués, he knew that the laundry needed to be done. Nanami only wore the Christmas pajamas that a six-year-old Sora had insisted he have when the clothes piles exceeded the height of the washing machine in the other room. However, if there were no stiff, risen patches, then there would be a neat line of buttons, although Nanami was always losing buttons, so it was not unusual for Shinichirou's fingers to hit two buttons in a row and then get caught between the folds of fabric. Sometimes he would untangle his digits, but most of the time he would seek out the smooth, personally charted skin underneath. Nanami's skin was always warm, but Shinichirou's fingers tended to be cold due to the lack of circulation through the night. The next sound would be a sharp in-take of breath and a thick, throaty groan of irritation.

Shinichirou, quite without Nanami's knowledge, would smile when he heard that sound, for that particular noise meant two things: one, he would soon get his trapped arm all to himself, and, two, the sweet aroma of breakfast would eventually permeate their apartment. Indeed, a few shifts and inarticulate morning mutters later, Nanami would roll carefully out of bed, the hushed, nasally sigh of the bed springs and Shinichirou's vindicated arm acting as the main indicators that he had gotten up.

When Nanami was gone, and the troubled appendage was tucked contentedly under the comforter, Shinichirou let himself drift in and out of consciousness. He would hear mundane, harsh noises like the bathroom door opening, the faucet running, the toilet flushing, and, of course, the door opening again. As he made a point of cuddling deeper into his pillow, he would anticipated the more interesting and over all softer noises that he considered more suited to the A.M. hours. One of his favorites was the hiss of the coffee maker, followed by the playful clinking of his and Nanami's favorite ceramic mugs being retrieved from the cupboard.

Soon after, Shinichirou would listen for Nanami's mood. The distant clatter of pots and pans and the sizzling of grease meant a big breakfast with a Western edge to it; Nanami was feeling especially good. The tinny sound of simmering and the static sound of steaming prophesized a more traditional Japanese meal; Nanami was content and generally happy. He adored those noises and those tantalizing smells. Shinichirou would be the first to admit, and would do so with pride, that he loved a man who could cook! It was when Nanami did not bother to cook at all that Shinichirou knew he was sad or angry or depressed. He hated hearing the dull thud of cardboard cereal boxes hitting the table and the swish of plastic as the package of bagels they kept in the Lazy Susan joined them.

Regardless of which kitchen sounds he heard, Shinichirou lazed in his bed until the gurgling of orange juice being brashly shaken in its carton reached his ears. Breakfast was ready, and if he did not move soon Nanami had a tendency to come back to harass him until he was out of bed and, apparently, humorously sour. Nanami was always poking fun at his early morning pouting faces.

Again, the bed springs would hum their relief as he lifted his body up and off the mattress. In the morning, nothing in Shinichirou's body worked just right. His legs were shaky from misuse and the arches of his feet ached a little with those first trudging steps across the room to get his robe. Not always, but occasionally, the skin stretched across the underside of said achy feet would be perfectly dry and soft and smooth; as he padded out of the bedroom he would have to be careful not to slip on the slightly more warn and matted carpet that trailed loyally between the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen.

Into the bathroom to make his own discordant noises and then to the kitchen, Shinichirou would squint his eyes against the orange glow of the kitchen light and the more intrusive light of the sun that beamed cheerfully through the kitchen window. He would always take a moment to pause in the door way and simply listen to the busy noises echoing about the room, bouncing off and melting into each other to form a strange little symphony. Of course there were the smells to appreciate. Whereas the aromas had teased him whilst he was pocketed in the coziness of his bed, they were practically attacking him in the kitchen. Mostly, however, there was Nanami; Nanami who was bent over the stove, or digging in the refrigerator; Nanami whose arms were submerged in dish water or whose hands were busy catching up with paper work at the table. Shinichirou had decided long ago that his day officially began when Nanami lifted his head and locked eyes with him. It was, after all, the first acknowledgement of the day, and secretly Shinichirou may have been the slightest bit stuck-up about the fact he got his first greeting from Nanami. Other people could only hope to see eyes so large and blue and maddeningly deep.

"Good morning," was the next sound that Shinichirou heard.

Nanami's voice was soothing and light, tickling almost, to the ears. Shinichirou would enter the kitchen fully then, and if his lover was standing, then he would wrap his arms around his waist, hugging him close, and lightly kiss him on the cheek. If Nanami was sitting, then he would lean down just enough to give him a one-armed hug around the shoulders and briefly caress his finely chiseled jaw line. Sometimes, Shinichirou would serve himself, and other times Nanami would prepare plates for both of them.

The rest of breakfast time was idle chit-chat and clanking utensils; the shuffling of papers and the sipping of coffee. Finally, Nanami would rise and put his dishes in the sink. He would lean down to peck Shinichirou on the lips before leaving. Technically, Nanami took less time to get ready in the morning, but only because Shinichirou took longer to finish eating. Additionally, it was his chore to tidy up the kitchen after breakfast, so he would do the dishes, clean off the table, and wipe down the counters. All the while, the shower head would buzz to life, and by the time he was finished, Nanami would be out of the shower and dressing in the bedroom.

Shinichirou would take his own shower, and when he was done, Nanami would be collecting his files for work, and often times he would prepare Shinichirou's brief case as well. Meanwhile, Shinichirou would tackle his rowdy hair into submission. His comb would be scraping, and his handfuls of mousse would be fizzing, and he would be growling at his reflection like a chained dog. Then he would be sighing because Nanami would be quietly massaging his shoulders; Shinichirou would watch him trying to hide his smile in the mirror. A little dejectedly, Shinichirou would hand the comb up to Nanami, who would take it and, in his gentle, methodical way, tame the mass of dark, rebellious hair into something clean and professional.

Shinichrou would mumble a thank you, and Nanami would say, "You're welcome," through his smirk of amusement.

Finally, they would both be ready for the day. Before they left, Nanami opened the blinds, letting sunlight pour into the apartment to chase away the dusky shadows that were still clinging to sleep. Shinichirou would open the door for his lover and follow him out.

"Lock it," Nanami would remind him.

Shinichirou was always forgetting to lock up. He would listen absently to the jangling of keys and the clicking of the lock. Together, they would travel down to the street. Their schedules were a little different. Nanami would go to school earlier because he had to oversee mornings at the dormitories, and Shinichirou didn't have to be at work for another hour or so. Armed with a list of things they had put off doing, he used that time to run errands. Sometimes, though rarely, there was no list, and they could walk to work together. Nanami smiled a lot when that happened.

The manner in which that portion of their morning happened did nothing to dispel the next very important sound, which paled in comparison to every morning sound. Whether standing next to one another on the street, just ready to part ways, or pausing outside the school entrance before going to their respective rooms, Shinichirou would gently touch Nanami's arm; Nanami would look up at him through cinnamon colored hair and bright eyes. No words would be uttered as one slender hand would reach up to gently cup Shinichirou's face, and Nanami would tilt his head slightly to one side. In an instant, the smallest smile would grace his face. Shinichirou's breath would catch for just a moment, and then Nanami would be gone, waving as he headed to the dorms. For the next hour, until he saw his lover again, that place on his face where delicate fingers had touched, would tingle because the loudest sound in Shinichirou's morning had no sound at all.

-Owari


End file.
